Quite A Caper
by BackForBreakfast
Summary: It's been three months since Rimmer left to become the next Ace, when the Starbug crew receive a distress call from a very mysterious craft...


Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters/places etc in this fic, and I'm not making any profit from this story. Hooray!

**Warning: Author's Note may contain spoilers**

A/N: Hey everyone! This is my latest piece of Red Dwarf fanfiction, which I hopefully plan to do something a bit special with (if anyone can do good impressions of any of the crew, please send me a note!) I've always disliked Rimmer leaving in "Stoke Me A Clipper", and have decided to write my own comeback fic. Hehe, I know it's not the most original idea in the book, but it was too tempting! I've tried to put my own original twist on the tale, however, so it doesn't read the same! I really hope you enjoy reading this fic - all reviews are much appreciated!

**Quite a Caper**

**--A Red Dwarf Fanfiction--**

**Chapter One**

Darkness filled the room. It plunged into a sea of black, only punctuated by the manic flicker of the ship's lights as they leapt in and out of life. Warning sirens ripped through the air like banshee screams, and the churning of the ship's enormous engines began to slow to a dull but steady roar. The pilot, from the corner of his eye, spied a red lick of flame encroaching on the cockpit. Staggering to stand, a plume of smoke invaded his lungs, and he tumbled, retching, onto the cold metal floor.

The pain was unbearable, like nothing he had ever experienced. It stemmed from his chest and seared through his body, so much so that he was near to crying out with every move of his limbs. He remained motionless for a moment, hoping to lessen its ice-like grip. After a few seconds of numbness the pain struck again, wrenching itself like a rusty spear through his spine. He clenched his eyelids together in agony and gasped for a breath he didn't need.

He shot a glance around the cockpit. It was frighteningly unfamiliar. A set of consoles arranged in a crudely-fashioned semi-circle surrounded the main view-window, which had been smashed through in the explosion. Shards of dangerous-looking glass invaded both the equipment and the floor. The pilot dragged himself toward the front of the craft, one hand clutched tightly to his chest, the other giving him the forward motion he so sorely needed. He winced at the pain. A constant static hummed in his ears, and he seemed, too, to see it in front of his eyes, as if sound and vision had merged to become one surreal, sensual whole.

Hauling himself up toward the console, he came across what he had feared the most; a host of multicoloured buttons and pull-switches, each more nondescript than the last. Some of them fizzed and hissed, sparks leaping out of their sockets and bouncing across the control desk. It was then that he knew he was alone. There was nobody left to consult – for the first time in what seemed like decades, the situation had come down to chance. The pain struck him again, harder this time. With his final ounces of strength, he raised his hand to the console and cranked down a single, unmarked lever.

Then, static overwhelming his senses, he collapsed to the ground and disappeared.

* * *

In the cockpit of the Jupiter Mining Corporation vessel Starbug, a red light began to blink.

* * *

Lister glanced down at his hand; the three of clubs, the four of hearts and the six of spades. It wasn't looking good. He chewed thoughtfully on a matchstick he held between his teeth and reached for his stack of chips. Casually he slid five more onto the table.

"I'm out," said Cat from beside him. He threw his cards face-down into the middle of the desk. "Man, I've seen higher numbers on Pluto's weather forecast. You'd better watch out, Freak-Face." He looked across at Kryten. "Dormouse-cheeks is gonna win again."

"Oh now, sir," said Kryten, scoffing embarrassedly. "I assure you, I have the mechanics of this game all worked out. It's simply a matter of calculating the most profitable time to raise the stakes."

The Cat seemed confused, "Then how come he keeps winning?"

"You can't predict a game of poker," said Lister, his eyes glinting at Kryten from across the table. An entertained smile crept across his face. He spun the matchstick between his fingers. "I'm a professional. Plus, you can never beat a human at his own game." He placed the well-chewed stick back between his teeth and held it there. "I'm serious. They used to worship me back in the Aigburth Arms."

"Oh yeah?" Cat laughed, revealing his pointed white teeth. "What were you, the god of ugliness?"

"Please, sirs," said Kryten, his eyes focused on his cards. "I really must concentrate." He glanced at the pack and then back at his cards again.

"Cat's right, Kryten," said Lister. "You're not playing it properly." He picked up the topmost chip from his stack and turned it like a coin in his hand. "You keep giving the game away." Kryten looked half-offended.

"Nonsense!" he replied, placing his hand on the table. "With all due respect, sir, mechanoids are just as capable of playing this game as humans." He glanced to his ever-diminishing stack of chips. "Ah," he said, "engage Bluff Mode." He took a large percentage of the pile and placed it next to Lister's measly five. Lister smiled. Somehow, he knew he was going to win again.

"Remember, one more win," he pointed out, drawing the river from the pack, "and you owe me that last six-pack of Leopard Lager you've kept locked in the supply bay." It was the Jack of Diamonds; Lister had nothing. Unflinching, he carefully measured out twelve of his highest-value chips and slid them towards the centre of the table.

Kryten winced. "But sir," he protested, "you know we're running low on supplies; can't you hold on for another three months?" He rapped his fingers against his chest monitor, already knowing what the answer would be.

"Three _months_?" Lister's tone was incredulous. "Sober, on this ship? Get outta town, Kryten. I've got to have me perks, haven't I? It's like…asking a plumber to give up plumbing; asking a baker to give up making cakes; asking a cartographer to give up…whatever the smeg he does!"

"Map-making, sir," Kryten informed him, still looking down at his cards.

"Right!"

Kryten didn't look up. He began to whimper, frustrated, "Oh, I _do_ wish Mr Rimmer was here. Then it wouldn't need to come down to this."

"Kryten, he only won because he cheated," said Lister, waiting for the mechanoid to make his move.

"What?" exclaimed Cat, clearly surprised.

"Yeah," sighed Lister. "He kept two Aces up each sleeve. The only problem was - two of them were spades. I don't think he thought anyone would notice." He watched as Kryten recalculated his ever-decreasing odds of winning. "I caught him once, slipping them into his hand from underneath the table."

Cat leant back in his chair and folded his arms. "So why didn't you tell us?"

Lister laughed, "Can you imagine what'd happen if I did? You know Rimmer. He wouldn't have talked to me for weeks."

Cat smiled a white-toothed smile, "Bud, where I come from, that's a _good_ thing."

"Nah," said Lister. "It was just his way of playing, y'know – some play it straight, some bluff, some go all-out aggressive. Rimmer was just…a special case."

"I never thought I'd say this, bud," said Cat, "but I agree with you. That guy was a _pest_!"

Lister didn't reply. He looked across at Kryten, who was still fussing over his cards, but in truth he wasn't really looking at anything. He pondered over what the Cat had said. Sure, Rimmer could be annoying. In fact, he had been most of the time. But as strange as the idea seemed at the time, he missed him. Perhaps he was meant to miss him. After all, Holly had brought him back for a reason. And when you're three million years into deep space in a dilapidated transport vessel with no chance of getting home, sanity's a difficult thing to hold onto.

"Oh," whined Kryten, "it's just not possible." He placed his cards onto the table and arranged them into a neat pile. "I'm sorry, Mr Cat, but I just can't beat a human." This immediately cheered Lister up, and a wide smile spread across his face.

"Ye-es!" he cheered, punching the air with his fist. "One more to me!" He laid his cards out in front of him. "Read 'em and weep, guys." Grinning, he collected the remaining chips and began to stack them one on top of the other to form his fifth consecutive tower. "Anyone up for another round?"

"I'm afraid that won't be possible." Kristine Kochanski stood in the sleeping quarters doorway, wearing a red padded suit and equally bright combat trousers. Her voice carried some urgency. "I've just checked the remote panel. There's something out there."

"The remote panel!" Cat repeated, giving her an enthusiastic thumbs-up. "I'm right with you there, Officer Bud-Babe!" Kochanski gave a slight roll of the eyes and proceeded to head toward the cockpit. When she had gone, Cat turned to Lister, "What's a remote panel?"

Lister laughed, "Come on." He pushed back his seat and made to follow her. In truth, he didn't know what it was either. But he certainly wasn't going to admit it.

"It's faint," said Kochanski as she walked into the cockpit, "but it's some sort of signal. Most likely a freight craft of some kind." She sat down at a console and studied the display. Kryten eyed her warily as he took his place at his seat.

"She's right," he confirmed, rather reluctantly. "A class-C transport vessel." He pressed a number of buttons and concentrated on his screen. Cat and Lister made their way to the front of the craft.

"Hey, what's this thing?" asked Cat, pointing irritably at the light that flashed furiously on the desk. "Whatever it is, it'd better stop blinking. Do you honestly expect me to sit here with _that_ in front of me? It's clashing with my outfit!" He adjusted the collar of his velvet-trimmed jacket and slid into his seat, eyeing the red light as if he would pounce on it any moment.

Kryten's voice obtained an element of panic. "It's a distress call," he said, tapping frantically on his console keyboard. "Whoever sent it is in much greater danger than we originally thought." The results of his scan appeared on the screen.

"What've you got?" asked Kochanski, with a sideways glance.

"It's impossible to tell, ma'am," answered Kryten, still looking at his monitor. "It's originating from a location almost out of range." He paused for a moment, scanning the numbers before speaking again. "If we get closer, I may be able to obtain more information. Until then," he said, "it's a mystery, I'm afraid."

"How sharp's the turn?" asked Lister, taking hold of Starbug's controls and tensing his fingers.

"Rather sharp, sir," replied Kryten. "Almost 180 degrees due south."

"Then that's where we're going," Lister nodded. He pushed the controls forward and turned them abruptly right, causing everyone in the cockpit to lurch with the jolt. The clatter of poker chips rang from the living quarters as Lister's stash crashed onto the floor. Kochanski gripped the arms of her chair as the craft steadied.

"Are you insane!" By the tone of her voice, she implied that to indeed be the case. "Have you even considered the safety margin?" She centred herself in her seat. "And what about the linkway?" Her eyes grew wide with desperation; desperation at something over which she had no control. "If we don't keep going now, we'll never re-establish it!"

Although she couldn't see it, Lister was grinning. "Don't worry," he said, waving a gloved hand at her from his chair. "Your Dave's a hologram, remember?" He gripped the controls again. "We've got plenty of time left for that." As Starbug swooped round to complete its turn, it juddered a little as the engines re-powered.

"Yes," Kochanski said, growling as the ship rocked back into line, "which is more than you'll have left alive when this is over." This only made Lister grin further, which, rather thankfully for him, remained unseen.

* * *

Kryten continued to study his monitor as Starbug powered slowly onward. Occasionally he would press a button or adjust a slider, but otherwise he remained solemnly silent. 

"Anything yet, Kryte?" asked Lister, who was now sitting back in his seat, one hand loosely resting on the control stick, the other dangling over the arm of his chair. It had been a while, and there was still no change in the readout.

"The signal's getting weaker, sir," Kryten replied. "Whatever craft's emitting it must be pretty badly damaged." He paused. "But I should be able to get a scan of the vessel's environment."

"Man, I hope we get there soon," said the Cat, still glaring at the flashing icon on the desk. He looked across at Lister, his teeth peeking whitely from his gums. Lister squinted at the main view-window.

"Hold on," he said, leaning forward in an attempt to gain a better view, "what's that?"

"What's _what_, dog-breath?"

"That!" Lister pointed straight ahead. Kochanski looked down at her monitor.

"He's right – there's something there." She pressed a button. "A planet. Gaseous – roughly five times the size of Earth." Then, out of the cockpit window, it slowly began to come into view. First it seemed so small that it would fit within the grasp of two fingers. Then it was big. Then it was _big_. And then it was _HUGE_. The green-blue planet loomed like an enormous unblinking eye through the view-screen, filling the cockpit with a garish, turquoise glow.

"According to the scan," said Kryten, "the craft crash-landed on one of its moons. Fortunately, the moon has an S3 atmosphere." Another reading beeped onto the screen. "Ah. Unfortunately, it's so thin that you'd suffocate almost immediately." He smiled rather too cheerily at a wry-looking Lister.

"I don't know why I'm bothering to ask this," he said, propelling his seat around with a gentle kick, "but are there any survivors?"

"All life-scans read zero, sir," Kryten answered.

"Then in that case," said Lister, turning his seat back to the controls, "I say we go and investigate."

"_What?_" came Kochanski's sharp reply. "Not content to divert from tracking the linkway, you now want to risk our necks on some ridiculous suicide mission?" She sat back in her chair and folded her arms. "For goodness' sake - most timeshares make more sense than you!"

"I agree," said Cat, motioning across to Lister. "That's suicide, bud! And remember," he leaned over, still keeping one hand on the controls, "only the good die young. Not the good-_looking_."

"Look," said Lister, pressing a button to slow the engines. "What if they have some supplies on board? It's a transport craft, remember? Surely they'd be carrying provisions."

"If they haven't been destroyed in the explosion," Kryten pointed out.

"Yes," Lister acknowledged, "but we won't know unless we check, will we? And besides," he said glumly, "I'm fed up with being back on the greens again. There's only so much a man can take." There was no response. "C'mon guys," Lister pleaded, "there must be _something_ you're missing."

"Fine," said Cat, waving his finger at him. "But they'd better have some of that super-hold hair spray down there." He smoothed a hand over his head. "That stuff's supposed to last for months. I got through it in a week!"

Lister looked at him, "Cat, I don't think they bet on someone using it five times a day." And it was true, he thought to himself; the Cat's hair was stiffer than a barrelful of whisky. He turned to the controls and gripped them tight. Below them, the orange moon came into view. Even from this distance, Lister could see the dark spots and blemishes that littered its surface."Right," he said, pushing forward on the control stick. "I'm taking her down."

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts! 


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